


Lost In Stereo

by Bosendorfer



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: AU, Civilian Eggsy Unwin, Fluff, M/M, eggsy works at a clothing store named huntsman, harry and merlin host a podcast named kingsman, idk where im going with this oops, internet meta bc i cant help myself, podcast au, radio au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 07:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bosendorfer/pseuds/Bosendorfer
Summary: Eggsy listens to the Kingsman podcast, Merlin just wants Harry to stop being a mopey single man, Roxy is everyone's favourite wingwoman.---“Good morning, ladies, gentlemen, and all that fall in between, welcome again to Kingsman. I am you host Galahad, along with Merlin, and today, we will be discussing the merits of a two and a half buttoned suit, among other things.”“Well, Galahad, forgive me if I’m wrong, but everyone’s pretty sure you’re the only one posh enough to know about their existence.”





	Lost In Stereo

**Author's Note:**

> "Wow m8 you suck at dialogue get better" <\- critic to my sad poor creative writing assignment  
> the obvious solution is to write a fanfic that bases itself off of a radio talkshow/podcast/something like that and is pretty much mostly dialogue.
> 
> Mostly written while hugging an ikea shark bc hes named galahad so i thought it would be fitting he would have something to do with this work.
> 
> not beta'd or britpicked, if there's any mistakes pls tell me

_“Good morning, ladies, gentlemen, and all that fall in between, welcome again to Kingsman. I am you host Galahad, along with Merlin, and today, we will be discussing the merits of a two and a half buttoned suit, among other things.”_

_“Well, Galahad, forgive me if I’m wrong, but everyone’s pretty sure you’re the only one posh enough to know about their existence.”_

_“Or so you say, yet you continue to host this show with me, to the downfall of our entire tech department since you basically replaced them all.”_

_“Aye, but I baked them cookies after.”_

_“Of course you did. But first, let us start the show with a selection of choral music -”_

_“Today, we are featuring pieces written by the classic Josef Rheinberger, Javier Busto, and the fairly recent but no less astounding Daniel Elder!”_

-o-

Eggsy never really pegged himself to be the type who listened to podcasts on his commute to his shiny new retail job. In fact, he never even had a retail job - no one in the estates that still had a brain to think with would hire him. As shitty and stupid his bastard of a stepfather was, Dean had held a regrettable amount of power, even if it only came in the form of his minions doing all the dirty work.

Making him off limits for jobs was Dean’s way of keeping him under control, and for years, it had worked. 

But now, Eggsy sat himself comfortably alone on the tube and got whisked away to Savile Row on Mondays through Fridays, working shifts for some department store named Huntsman that lasted anywhere from three hours to five. He knew he was a pity hire, that the manager had taken one look at his off brand trainers and his wrinkled polo, asked him “why he was here; the truth, please,” and hired him on the spot when Eggsy merely shrugged and said he needed to feed his baby sister. 

If he was doing this for himself, he wouldn’t have accepted the job. The last thing he wanted was pity. But, instead, he was doing this for Daisy, and Daisy made it worth it - Daisy made everything worth it.

He might have even begun to genuinely like his boss after Mr. Huntsman - “Call me Andrew, Eggsy” - had showed him pictures of his own daughter (young, around Daisy’s age, brunette, loved flowers and swords and has an odd obsession with clams, but not as a food) and promised that if there was any trouble Eggsy could bring Daisy in with him, he’d understand.

Eggsy never believed it, until one day he rushed in thirty minutes late with Daisy in his arms because his mom was high, Dean was drunk, and Daisy was sick so there was no way in hell Eggsy would leave her at home. Andrew - because he really was Andrew now, anyone who liked Daisy, Eggsy liked - said nothing and took Daisy from his arms. He gave Eggsy a tenner to go buy some cold meds from the pharmacy down the street, and let him hang out in the back room to coddle Daisy the entire day. Eggsy never felt so good about a job his entire life.

He even earned enough in the few months he’s been working to buy himself a phone - one of the nice ones, with a touchscreen and everything - and all of a sudden commute was no longer boring. Now, every morning before Eggsy left for work, Eggsy would grab his phone, download the new podcast episode as he ate breakfast, and listen to it on the tube.

He didn’t start out listening to _Kingsman_ either, his first was a cheesy talk show about relationship advice - Jamal had made him listen to it after Eggsy spent one night too many bemoaning his lack of a love life. From there, he’d found _Elton_ , which was definitely more music based than an actual show. Elton John himself did occasionally make an appearance though, which was pretty cool. All in all, it was plenty interesting, but it bored him after a while. He wanted something with a little more character.

Then he found _Statesman_ , a show dedicated to the varieties of alcohol and was founded somewhere in America, but that hadn’t caught his interest either. No, the program that finally did was _Kingsman: Manners Maketh Man_ , the poshest podcast to ever befall upon Eggsy’s ears. 

Eggsy would never admit the reason he found it was because Galahad had been a guest star on Statesman once, discussing wine and cheese, and Eggsy had developed a massive crush. It was simply curiosity on the topic of pure, unaltered, english poshness.

The massive crush part happened later, when he had become a dutiful listener to Kingsman and learnt that Galahad had a yorkie named Mr Pickles, his co-host was a sarcastic scot called Merlin, both of them played some weird secret-agent-spies related version of D&D in their free time, in which Galahad had once single handedly stopped a drug ring operating in a small town called Houndsville. Oddly enough, Merlin never mentioned which campaign that particular adventure was from.

Besides, Eggsy worked in a fancy clothing store now and having a little extra knowledge on ties and suits and a french cuff versus a barrel cuff and the etiquette that came with it did help out occasionally.

(The first time he had managed to wrangle a customer into ditching brand names and buying a more expensive yet unknown brand by explaining the difference in _interior construction_ of a suit jacket and its resulting longevity out of all things had shocked Charlie, that arse, to speechlessness, and even if Eggsy wasn’t in love with a voice, that alone would’ve kept Eggsy listening to Kingsman for the rest of his life.)

-o-

_“Now, a two and a half button suit would often be mistaken as either a three roll two, or an oddly constructed three-button suit.”_

_“Galahad, has it occurred to you that that would be because they all have three buttons?”_

_“Well, perhaps, but really, the differences are obvious. In a proper three button suit, you can, surprise, see three buttons. In a two and a half, you can see two and a half. In a three roll two, you see two. It’s ridiculously simple.”_

_“When you put it that way, it really is a bit simple, I suppose.”_

_“Thank you, Merlin. I live for your validation.”_

_“Aye, Galahad, you would be dead without me. Now for the part you all came for: the Kingsman Fashion Stories!”_

_“Feel free to call in, fellow listeners, and share your own stories about any recent fashion mishaps you or your friends may have suffered through. We can all do with a little bit of humbling now and then.”_

_“Especially you, Galahad, you bloody peacock.”_

Eggsy let the podcast drone on through his earbuds, only half aware of what was going on in the shop. It was midday, and if he knew anything, it was that midday was lunch time, and for all the posh fuckers who shopped down Savile Row, lunch was sacred. No one went suit shopping during lunch time. Granted, there were the few younger customers who browsed their more casual merchandise, but that area wasn’t Eggsy’s to take care of. It was, against all odds, generally Charlie’s, who, Eggsy noticed, looked completely and utterly miserable helping one of those young customers.

Since Eggsy was bored as hell folding and refolding all the dress shirts and Charlie has actually been bearable lately, he put his phone away and walked over. The other man noticed, and quickly waved the customer - a young man in his twenties who looked like an even bigger dick than Charlie did, for god’s sake - towards him. Eggsy put on his best customer service smile.

“Hello, welcome to Huntsman. I’m Gary, what do you need help on?”

The man gave him a once-over, and grimaced. Eggsy could feel the waves of superiority rolling off of him.

“I want those -” he pointed to a pair of ridiculous high tops, “but they don’t come in my size. I want them.”

Eggsy looked at what he was pointing at, and cringed internally. Normally, he was all for gaudy, bright sneakers, but that pair was just ridiculous and bulky. Of course the guy would want that pair.

“The Fear of God sneakers? Unfortunately, you’re right.” Eggsy stated, checking the label. “They aren’t available in many sizes. However, I do know the Porter brand does custom shoe sizing at a small fee. If you would like, I can direct you to our shoppers and they can help you order a pair.”

“What’s the fee?”

“£200.”

“Yeah, that works. Show me where to go.”

Eggsy brought him to the counter and explained the situation Amanda, a woman who’d worked here at Huntsman for as long as the shop existed and knew everything there was to know about how the place works. She’d know what to do with the guy. 

Eggsy scrambled back to his rightful place by the coats as fast as he could. At least the people who shopped for jackets here usually had their own tailors and only bothered to ask about stylistic choices. Seriously, he would never get used to calling $200 a small fee.

And, as luck would have had it, he spotted two heads peeking over the racks. One of them had the standard perfectly styled hair. The other one… didn’t have any. Interesting. From what Eggsy has seen so far, all the businessmen he has seen so far fussed over their hair even more than the girls back in the estates. Eggsy prided himself in being able to at least perform the basic customer service actions though, and walked over.

“Hello, do you two gentlemen need any help?”

And then the two men turned around and Eggsy decided maybe he is incapable of doing his job after all, because while the bald man wasn’t exactly harsh on the eyes, the other might’ve been a gift bestowed upon humankind by God himself. Mile long legs in perfectly tailored trousers led up to a _sick_ grey double breasted suit - showing off a mighty fine shoulder to waist ratio, his mind betrayed him - and all that led to an absolutely fan-fucking-tastic face. The blacked out lense on his glasses over his left eye didn’t really do much to distract from that. In fact, it quite supported Eggsy’s theory that an old man that fit would have to be one of those James Bond types. A very _hot_ James Bond wannabe, Eggsy’s mind helpfully supplied.

And then he looked over at the bald man, and realized that although he looked mostly harmless in a fluffy sweater, and he wore trousers that covered a great deal of his legs, he wasn’t wearing socks. And where there should have been skin, it was _metal_. Eggsy suddenly felt a lot less interested in the Grey Suit Man, and instead decided that yeah, Grey Suit and Bald Man were definitely undercover MI6 agents that were out to kill him. He still wasn’t sure what he did to warrant this, but there was no way normal people would be super fit and have those injuries and still function like they have absolutely nothing impeding them.

“Oh yes, please. I was merely here in hopes of getting my friend over here to finally buy a nice suit, but he refuses to go in for fittings at my tailors, so this is the best I can do,” Grey Suit Man proclaimed, waving vaguely at the Bald Man.

Oh. Maybe they were here just for suits after all.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” Eggsy stammered, and let out the breath he was holding as quietly as he could. Sticking his far fetched movie influenced fantasies on strangers never helped his customer service score.

“I’m Hart. Harry Hart. And you might be?” Grey Suit - Mr. Hart - said, and tilted his head expectantly. Eggsy’s traitorous mind could not decided if the man was terrifying or adorable. Another, more paranoid part of his brain did not let that introduction go unnoticed. Seriously, James Bond wannabe.

“Call me Gary. I take the suit will be tailored though? And not just off the rack?”

“Jesus Christ, lad. Just because I’m not as much as an arse about clothing as Harry doesn’t mean my standards would be that low,” the other man said. “I’m Hamish. I trust you'll help us find something, Gary?”

“Oh yes, that I can do. Do you two have any styles in mind?” Eggsy said, and then just stood back as the two men started arguing.

(“One can’t go wrong with a traditional charcoal grey or navy, I suppose, but really Hamish, you have to mix things up a bit”

“Harry, I’m not you, I don’t live my life in suits. My sweaters are plenty mixed.”

“I know, my friend, but what about pinstripes? Herringbone? Some plaid perhaps, or a nice -”

“Let me get a simple suit in a solid color and I’ll give you early access to the new civ version of Rainmaker.”

“Well I suppose you can always spice up the cut and style.”

“Single breasted, two buttons, english cut.”

“But if you get a double breasted one we can match.”

“What if I don’t want to match?”

“Please?”

“Fine.”)

-o-

“I’ll take any solid colored double breasted suit you have lad, as long as it fits.”

Eggsy stared at him. 

“Sir, you do understand, that’s an extremely broad request right?”

The man - Hamish - stared balefully at him.

“Anything to get Harry satisfied is enough.”

“Alright, I guess? Follow me then, anything with a double breast would be in this direction.”

Eggsy guided them over towards the back. All the more expensive, fancier suits were there, and really, no mainstream company seemed to have any double breasted suits worth carrying these days. The only ones they had were Huntsman make.

Huntsman had been a proper tailor’s shop, once upon a time. It had been Andrew’s pride and joy, but in the period after V-Day, it really just wasn’t practical. No one was invested enough to go for fancy and expensive bespoke suits when half of the people needing suits were normal, everyday men with funerals to attend and not enough time to attend them. To make business even worse, half of Andrew’s usual cliente were dead with their heads blown up (which Eggsy had needed a moment to decide if it was unnecessary and gruesome, or actually kind of cool. Those with the chip implants weren’t exactly good people after all - they had wanted a literal Noah’s Ark to take place), or recovering from being kidnapped and forced to watch the world burn (the BBC had said each and every one of Valentine’s cells literally had a telly dedicated to broadcasting the carnage that was going to happen, which was, well, disgusting).

It had killed Andrew to change Huntsman from a beloved family-owned tailor’s shop to some random department store, but sales were sales and the man had preserved the old shop as his personal office, and kept his apartment above the shop as well. They still had an on-site tailoring service and did in fact make the odd bespoke once in awhile, depending on how bored Andrew was. Besides, Huntsman 2.0 has been doing good enough recently for the man to consider opening up a new location. 

Still, this little section of old-world tailoring left behind was Andrew’s favourite part of the entire store. And, on good days where the store was calm and Daisy was okay, the days Eggsy had time to spare and Andrew wasn’t busy doing something or the other, he teaches Eggsy. Mostly, the subjects revolved around tailoring - Andrew hadn’t let his sudden (and surprising) interest in suits go unnoticed. It was why Eggsy spent a better part of his time working in the formalwear section anyways (Eggsy would never admit he only gained an interest because of his choice in commute entertainment). But, peppered in between, Eggsy learnt how to save his money, how to care for his credit. He learnt how to make the perfect fluffy omelette and how to fix up the old laptop he had at home. Eggsy learnt that Andrew knows many things.

It seemed fitting that this corner would be the only place that showed off Andrew’s handiwork. It was a modest few racks, but each suit there was made with care, canvassed by hand and perfectly tailored (to standard sizes, of course, with seams allowing for the ease of even further tailoring cleverly sew in). It housed the fancy and unconventional - from the velvet smoking jackets (Eggsy was seriously eyeing that orange one; maybe Andrew would be kind enough to teach him how to sew so he could make an imitation instead of paying two grand for the jacket), to the jackets with unusual patterns, to jackets with wild and bold cuts, to even the select few with sewn in sequins. And in today’s day and age, sometimes unconventional simply meant a good quality double breasted suit.

Those were stored in one of the relatively close racks, and Eggsy led the two customers towards them.

“Well,” Eggsy gestured towards the selection, “that’s all we have that fit the descriptions of ‘double breasted’. Sorry we don’t have more, not much people go around buying these nowadays.” 

Hamish nodded. “That’s understandable, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone besides Harry here wear one outside of work.” He eyed the rack.

After a short moment of contemplation, he nodded. “Can I try on this one?”

The jacket he chose was a delicate black pinstripe, english cut, double vented. Hart raised an eyebrow.

“Hamish, my friend, unless this one eye of mine is failing as well, that most definitely is not a solid color.”

“Well, it’s nostalgic.”

“Of Kentucky.”

“Aye. Hold this for me, will you?” he asked, and stripped off his sweater. Carefully, he flipped the tag out of the way and eased the jacket on. He buttoned up the middle row, and walked towards the mirror on the wall.

“Harry, what do you think?”

The other man gave him a once-over, and nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it certainly fits where it matters.”

And it was true. The shoulders lay flat and solid, and the buttons closed easily. The collar draped flawlessly over his dress shirt and rolled smoothly over his chest. The sleeves and the back were just a tad bit long, Eggsy thought, but that would be a simple alteration. Still, it was also just the jacket in a two piece suit. They still had another entire half to worry about.

“Excuse me? If the jacket fits well, would you like to try on the trousers as well? This one should be the matching one.” Eggsy said, and held up a pair. “The changing rooms would be just -”

“No need,” Hart interjected. “We’ll be taking both. I have faith in my tailors ability to make sure the trousers fit just as well as the jacket. Hamish, what do you think?”

“I agree, there should be no need to worry. Now lad, would you mind showing us where to check out?”

-o-

“ _Jamal,_ ” Eggsy whined, “I still don’t know if he was hot or scary.” 

His friend sent him a pitying glance and drank from his mug. 

“Bruv, I ain’t here to be your love life counselor. Why don’t you go talk to Ryan? He’s been in a disgustingly sweet relationship with Jane for months. I can hear them fucking through the wall.”

“That’s the problem, mate. He’s forgotten what it’s like to be one of us. Sad, lonely… _fuck_ I need another pint.”

“Dude if you want him, just go and bang him. Give him a blowie. Or have him give you one, I don’t care. Or just do it up the arse. Point is, get over it neat and quick ‘cause the quicker you do, the less I have to hear about it.”

Eggsy glared at him, and stalked back towards the bar. The Black Prince was fairly empty this early in the day - he had gotten off of work early, and had invited Jamal to the pub to see if they can get some planning done for Daisy’s fifth birthday. For once he had money to throw a proper party - having a steady job in the nicer part of town meant he can afford the basic luxuries of life now, wow - and damn him but he was going to do it right. Or as right as he can, considering he was now drunk off his arse in the pub barely past noon ranting about a hot guy in a suit to Jamal out of all people. Jamal may be his best mate, sure, but he was just as clueless as Eggsy when it came to relationships. Also, he was straight. Eggsy almost felt sorry for him as he would never be able to truly appreciate the aesthetics of the one Harry Hart.

He got his drink, and sat back down.

“You should’ve seen him, man. Y’know what he introduced himself as?” Eggsy giggled. “He was all, gentlemanly ‘n shit, but then he goes _‘Hart, Harry Hart’_ all Bond-like. Which he could be, because I’ll bet my balls his friend got legit prosthetic legs. All shiny and everythin’.”

Eggsy stopped his rambling because at this point, he could literally feel his friend judging him.

“If his name was really ‘Hart, Harry Hart’, Eggsy, I’m sorry but you have practically no hope now. You should’ve jumped him while you had the chance ‘cause I’m certain that posh bastard ain’t coming back.”

“What?”

“Eggsy, you’ve heard of the brand _Hartstrong_ , right? Y’know, the brand that made your phone? The leading tech company after Valentine did you-know-what, headed by your very own Harry Hart and Hamish Strong?”

Eggsy stared at Jamal. 

“ _What._ ”

-o-

Eggsy hated mornings in the estates. Mornings in the estates were cold, unforgiving, and hungry. He woke up in his too-small bed covered in too few blankets to the shrill beeping of his phone alarm. He ate a too cold breakfast of whatever cereal was open and snuck a juice box from Daisy’s growing collection (he keeps buying her more to make up for it. There’s no harm as long as Daisy likes ‘em, right?) and watches his phone as it slowly downloads the newest episode of _Kingsman_. 

Mornings once he was outside on his way to work was a whole other story. The crisp morning air is somehow leagues different from the stagnant chill that creeped throughout the flat. The smooth voices of Galahad and Merlin droned on in his ear as he walked towards the tube. Sure, they may be just a bit digitally altered (and didn’t that admission cause an uproar among the listeners? It was true though; once it was pointed out, Eggsy could definitely hear just the slightest bit of autotune, hidden in the pleasant intonation of the two gentlemen’s original voices), but if their voices sounded this fantastic even when put through the terror that was an automatic voice synth, Eggsy would bet his right hand they could only sound better in real life. One could dream, after all.

_“Welcome again, dear listeners, to Kingsman. I am your host Galahad, here with my co-host Merlin.”_

_“Indeed, ‘tis I. And, listeners, I’m sure you all would know I bought a new suit very recently, to Galahad’s immense pleasure. Or you would know, if you’re keeping up with out twitter sidebar on the site.”_

_“Must we insist upon these shameless plugs?”_

_“How else are we supposed to get people to follow our twitter?”_

_“Fair enough, Merlin. You’re the tech wizard around here, I hope you would forgive me for the questioning. But really, it is quite surprising you hadn’t gotten a new suit since we started this show. Great to know you finally gave in.”_

_“It’s not my fault my sweaters are infinitely more practical that your dry-clean-only three piece suits. I’m a simple man, I see something that works and works well, and I want it.”_

_“Old habits die hard, I’m afraid. The suit is the modern gentleman’s armor, after all. I would say, for an off the rack suit, it was surprisingly well made. I’m quite sure it’s not a big brand either, or I would’ve heard of them and possibly reviewed them. Quite an interesting experience, tagging along on Merlin’s shopping trips.”_

_“Oh yes, Galahad, an interesting experience. Now, listeners, I’ll let you in on a bit of a secret: Galahad here has been pathetically single for most of his life -”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“- though I suppose it really isn’t a secret if everyone already knows. Either way, point still stands. I, Merlin of Kingsman, solemnly swear that as I was buying my suit, I saw our beloved Galahad lay his eyes on a wee lad and fall in love.”_

_“Merlin, pardon?”_

_“Love, Galahad, loooove.”_

_“It was merely the same respect I show to any worker who knows what they’re doing with a suit, Merlin. Don’t be preposterous.”_

_“Well, I haven’t seen that ‘respect’ for years.”_

_“It might’ve been a rare occasion.”_

_“So he was special.”_

_“Merlin.”_

_“You didn’t deny it.”_

_“I’m not a cradle robber.”_

_“You’re still not denying it.”_

_“Merlin.”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Do shut up.”_

_“Aye.”_

Eggsy’s face was completely red by the time he got off the tube and started walking towards Huntsman.

**Author's Note:**

> ...can't believe out of all the years ive been trash for various fandoms it was an english assignment and me being pathetically sad over a fanfic that caused me to finally write something oops.
> 
> feel free to leave kudos and comments if you liked it (validate me please and thank you :') )
> 
> catch me on tumblr [here](https://bosendorfer.tumblr.com/) even if i dont actually do much there (none of my friends are in the fandom though feel free to go over there and annoy me)
> 
> (also fear of god sneakers are a real thing on mr porters website apparently)


End file.
